'The moonlight music of the waves In storms is heard no more, When the living lightning mocks the wreck At midnight on the shore: And the mariner's song of home has ceased; His course is on the sea-- _And there is music when it rains In Scudder's balcony._' 'What could induce the poet to spoil his otherwise pretty verses in this manner, it is difficult to imagine; but as this is by no means a solitary instance of the kind, we are led to suppose that the minds, in which such incongruities originate must be influenced by the popular notion of imitating Lord BYRON, in the wild vagaries which even his genius could scarcely render endurable.' Isn't this rather rich, friend HALLECK? We doubt whether Mrs. ELLIS could take a joke, though it were shot at her from a cannon. Indeed, she would doubtless reply to this remark: 'But how can you shoot a joke out of a cannon? Surely, that can hardly be feasible!' * * * * * GOSSIP WITH READERS AND CORRESPONDENTS.--A Friend, writing to us from the City of Brotherly Love, under date of 'Sixth-month 15th,' respectfully inquires: 'Will the Editor accept a few remarks on the communication of 'N. S. D.', from a plain Quaker; one, whose ancestors were Quakers, and who, after a close historical scrutiny, is not ashamed to claim _kith_, if he cannot _kin_, with those of that profession who were hung on Boston Common, or were beaten at cart-tails from village to village throughout puritanic New-England?' To which we cheerfully answer: 'Yea, certainly, Friend 'N.' Lift up thy voice against the accuser of the brethren, and welcome:'